Page 31 of Beauty and the Cop
But I do not want to fuck this up. Scratch that. Ican'tfuck this up. If I lose her, I might not recover. She's quickly become the best part of my life.
"Gotta go," I growl at Jackson, hanging up on him before he can give me more shit about Elsie. He gave me enough shit after I kissed her last night. Frankly, there's a reason I didn't tell him a single goddamn detail while we were running all over Chicago last night. He's too fucking opinionated.
I shove my phone into my pocket and then run my hands through my wild hair for the sixth time in half an hour. "Do not blow it," I mutter to myself before stomping across the street with my stomach trying to eat my asshole.
I've never been this nervous about seeing her before. But tonight? Well, with any luck, tonight will be a whole hell of a lot different than eating dessert in front of her TV or fighting over leftovers in my pathetic excuse for a kitchen.
Tonight, I don't want to walk the eighty-seven steps to my front door while she waves goodnight from her porch. I want to strip her bare and make love to her on the old chaise tucked into the corner of her living room. The one she adamantly refuses to throw out, even though it looks like it's been through a paintball war.
It has character, she likes to argue, her green eyes flashing with fire, her little chin turned up, and her hands planted on her hips, as if she's about to light into me.
I always lose that particular argument. Not that I ever make a real effort to win, anyway. I only goad her about the damn chair to rile her up. The woman doesn't take any shit from me. She always gives as good as she gets, and Jesus Christ, I'm dying to give it to her until her curvy little body is covered in a sheen of sweat and she can't handle another round.
"Do not blow it," I mutter again, jogging up the steps to her porch, trying like hell to calm my racing heart and get my dick under control. Just the thought of watching her writhe above me on that ugly chaise has the hard bastard pressing against my zipper. My self-control is in tatters, still scattered across her living room floor like shredded paper…annihilated by the little pair of panties she was wearing when she came all over my fingers.
I've thought about the way she moaned for me incessantly since then. I'm definitely setting a world record for the longest-lasting erection here. Might even tell Guinness about it to get the goddamn recognition I deserve for being a saint.
I rap sharply on the door, refusing to think about her coming for me. I'll be jerking off like a fucking teenager in the bathroom if I do.
Elsie flings the door open in a matter of seconds. Her eyes light up when she sees me, her tongue darting out to wet her bottomlip. She smiles up at me, her cheeks flushed, and I want to drag her into my arms and kiss her breathless.
I realize there's nothing stopping me from doing that this time, so I pull her into my arms, claiming her lips in a deep kiss. I don't let up until she's melting against me, whimpering and clinging to my shoulders.
"Hey, stranger," she whispers when I finally let her up for air, her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes dazed.
"Hey, yourself," I drawl, looking her over. I damn near groan out loud. I couldn't see it from the window, but her dress, a deep purple that does sinful things to her creamy complexion, ends at mid-thigh before flaring out. The dark fabric hugs her curves in all the right places, making her look downright decadent. Thevbetween her breasts teases at a hint of cleavage, just enough to make my fucking mouth water.
How have I kept myself from ravaging her for the last month?
I'm fucking tired of my hand. The endless cold showers are getting old, too. And there are a helluva lot of those…every damn time I wake up from another dream of taking her over the back of my sofa, on top of the table, or tied to my bed. There's a never-ending list of ways I want her spread out for me.
But even in the kinkiest, dirtiest of those fantasies, we don't fuck. I'm making love to her.
Yeah, I've got it bad for the sexy little minx. Real bad.
Does she feel the same way?
Christ, I hope so.
I lean forward, brushing my lips against hers in another soft kiss. I want to sink into her and never come up for air, but I force myself to behave for now. I owe her a date before I'm all over her again.
"What do you think?" she asks, giving me a little spin with her arms outspread. She tosses a grin over her shoulder, her dimples flashing at me.
I have to clear my throat roughly before I can summon an answering grin. "Not bad, Dimples. Not bad at all."
She sticks her tongue out at my response before giving me a once-over. Her mouth pops open in shock. "Holy shit. You own a suit?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I smirk, sliding my hand into my pocket to grab a slip of paper, holding it out to her with a flourish. "I brought you a present."
Another happy grin lights her up from the inside as she reaches for the slip of paper. Her brows furrow as she examines it, and then a loud peal of laughter erupts from her lips. "A coupon? Really, Noah?"
"That's not just any coupon, Dimples." I tap the slip of paper with a finger. "This little puppy right here entitles you to one free fifteen-ounce container of coconut pecan frosting from the masters at Duncan Hines."
She does not want to know what I had to do to get that coupon.
"Well, then." She lifts up on her tiptoes, planting her lips against my cheek in a quick kiss. I barely stifle a groan, my hands clenching with the urge to grab onto her. But she's dropping back to her heels again before I have the chance. "That certainly changes things." Reaching behind her to grab her handbag, she slides the coupon inside. "It's a good thing my date tonight is armed. I may need the extra protection for that golden ticket."
"Damn straight you will. You ready to go?"
